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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170107">Hold me Down (Hold my Heart)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy'>BatsAreFluffy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Justice League (2017), Superman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Bruce Wayne, But enthusiastic consent, Day 23: Exhaustion, Don't try the patience of a pissed off kryptonian, M/M, Master/Slave, Porn, Submissive Bruce Wayne, Top Clark, Under-negotiated Kink, Whumptober 2020, but he's exhausted, first time in subspace, not as detailed as i'd like, really - Freeform, this evolved into porn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:28:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,492</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27170107</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BatsAreFluffy/pseuds/BatsAreFluffy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“And even by my count, you’ve back on a sleep deficit, not that you ever really balance that chequebook. You need to slow down, before you hurt something.”<br/>Ignoring Clark didn’t seem to be working. “What would Dr. Kent prescribe then?” he snarked. “Warm milk and a bedtime story, a nightlight to keep the monsters away?”<br/>“If I had my way, I’d take you up to that monster of a bed, chain you down to the goshdarn mattress, and sit on you until you passed out.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Like tears in the rain [23]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Whumptober 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hold me Down (Hold my Heart)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yes, this went in a whole different direction. And it's all Bruce's fault. I swear, writing him today has been an exercise of yelling at my fingers while they type out stuff.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>“I’m pretty sure the human body is not meant to be awake this long, Bruce.”</p>
<p>Bruce ignored him, continuing to punch the target in front of him. The steady thwack thwack of the boxing gloves was oddly soothing. Easy to slip into the rhythm of the work, to feel the burn of muscles and tendons – to feel as alive as possible. Easy to sink into --</p>
<p>“I get it, B, you spent a large chunk of last week under Mr. Freud’s enchantment, and maybe you’re just so hyped up on sleep you need to burn it off. But it’s been three days.”  </p>
<p>Bruce stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat off his face. With a snarl, he ripped the gloves off and stalked over to the weights, grabbing a set, and starting.</p>
<p>“And even by my count, you’ve back on a sleep deficit, not that you ever really balance that chequebook. You need to slow down, before you hurt something.”</p>
<p>Ignoring Clark didn’t seem to be working. “What would Dr. Kent prescribe then?” he snarked. “Warm milk and a bedtime story, a nightlight to keep the monsters away?”</p>
<p>Clark rolled his eyes. “Just once, I’d like to be able to take you to bed without fighting an eight year old on steroids.”</p>
<p>Bruce barked a harsh laugh, tossing the weights to the ground. “You couldn’t take me anywhere, Kent, least of all bed.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Clark said, insulted. “You want to – really, you don’t have a self preservation gene anywhere in you, do you?” He shook his head. “If I had my way, I’d take you up to that monster of a bed, chain you down to the goshdarn mattress, and sit on you until you passed out.”</p>
<p>“Kinky,” Brucie drawled, swaying closer. “I never thought you had that in you.”</p>
<p>Clark stood up, staring down the few steps to the training mats. “I’m not a boy scout, Bruce. I know you have this image in your head of my being some blushing virgin, but really, I’m not. And I know you’re not. But,” he added, hovering over the steps to look down right into Bruce’s face. “I know you’ve never had anyone who could back up their domination over you. Never really had to submit, have you?”</p>
<p>Bruce felt the flush start on his chest. His bare chest. And damn it, his lover had a point. No one had ever been close to over powering him. Not like Clark could. Not that Clark ever would – he was the most passive lover he’d ever met. Bruce was nearly always in charge in the bedroom.</p>
<p>“I don’t submit,” he growled out.</p>
<p>“You would with me,” Clark said matter-of-factly. “You’d submit, and beg, and pass out with my cock so deep in your ass you wouldn’t be able to move for a week without feeling the bruises.”</p>
<p>Fuck, that sounded delicious. That sounded like, like something he’d wanted to hear someone mean for a very long time. Bruce was half hard in his workout shorts already, and Clark hadn’t even touched him yet. “Really,” he growled.</p>
<p>Clark smirked, looking down. “Really.”</p>
<p>Bruce lunged forward, brought their mouths together, and bit his way into Clark’s mouth. He snarled, and bit, and twisted his tongue around the alien’s mouth. And the alien let him, no push no fight. “Not doing a great job so far,” he snarked against the ruined mouth.</p>
<p>“Safeword, Bruce?”</p>
<p>Bruce laughed. “You’re unreal. You think you can knock me out with your little power trip?” At Clark’s unmoving face, he laughed again under his breath. “Black, red, white, farm-erk!”</p>
<p>Clark held him by the neck, lifting just a tiny bit. “White is all clear? Blink once for yes, two for no.” One blink, and Clark tossed him down onto the mats. A second later, he landed, legs spread on either side of Bruce’s gasping body. “I’m not going to gag you, because I want to hear you beg. And you will. And you’ll chain yourself up because I said you would, and you’ll come only when I order you to. Colour?”</p>
<p>Bruce’s eyes widened the longer Clark spoke. His cock gave a heavy twitch of interest, and he was having a harder time catching his breath. “Yes – white,” he stammered slightly.</p>
<p>Clark brought one foot to rest on the bulging erection, pressing down. “Try again,” he ordered.</p>
<p>Bruce bucked under the contact, pinned to the mat. “Yes, Clark – argghhh! Yes, sir, master, please,” he spewed, shocked. Panting, he squirmed under the boot. “Please, master, yes.”</p>
<p>Clark nodded, lifted his foot, and reached down for his arm. “Come to bed, slave. And I’ll teach you some proper bedroom habits.” When Bruce was on his feet, he grabbed the scruff of neck, holding tightly. Bruce couldn’t help it, he rose on the tips of his feet, back arching to get away from the steel grip.</p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Bruce knelt on the bed, ass thrust towards his lover. Clark was still inside him, not thrusting or pushing, just resting. He wasn’t even fully hard yet, and he was still driving Bruce wild with the need to move, damnit. “Please, move, please, don’t just sit there!”</p>
<p>Clark shook his head. “You heard me. Put your wrists in the cuffs, and lock them. Then I’ll pay attention to your prostate.”</p>
<p>Bruce whined, and thrust backwards, only for Clark to move with him, allowing no friction or glide. “Clark, please,” he moaned, and yelped. Clark had swatted his butt, hard. “Master,” he corrected, feeling oddly ashamed. “Master please move.”</p>
<p>“Put your wrists in the cuffs, and lock them.” When Bruce whined, frustrated, Clark leaned down and palmed the swollen dick locked into the multi-strap cock ring. “I told you, you’d beg, you’d plead, and you’d tie yourself up before this was over. Did I lie so far, slave?”</p>
<p>Bruce sobbed, shaking his head. They’d been at this for over an hour. Clark hadn’t let him come once. Clark had marked his mouth, his face, chest, and crack already with his releases.</p>
<p>“Do it – I’m ordering you, slave. Do it because your master tells you it will make him happy.” Clark leaned down to whisper into his ear, “and that’s all a good slave wants, right?”</p>
<p>Something cracked inside Bruce, and feelings poured into the hole – of euphoria, of joy, of --- obedience? His – master -- had told him what to do. It was simple, really. Just an exchange, really. Pleasure for pleasure...</p>
<p>Shuddering, he crawled forward a few inches, to the open cuff on the pillow. They were alien in design, with no lock or opening he could see. But he knew they were safe, Clark would have made sure. Master said he was pleasing him...</p>
<p>The metal was cool, smooth, and thin. He pressed each wrist against them, and watched as they snapped shut against his skin. A deep shudder ripped through him, seeing the cuffs on him. He’d done that –he’d chained himself to his master’s whim – but he would break out, just as soon –</p>
<p>The moan that broke out of him was purely pornographic. The cuff’s metal was melting, spreading over the knobs of his wrist, and over the bones of his thumb. The metal shifted a bit up his arm, and then hardened nearly instantly. There was no hint of an opening, no way he could break his thumbs to get out – get out – he couldn’t get out – out –</p>
<p>Instead of panicking, the euphoria only increased. He’d been good, and his master was already rewarding him, pushing deeper inside, grazing his spots each time. He was good, he must be, Master was telling him all sorts of filthy praise. How’d he’d like to see him come without being touched, how he’d like to collar him and bring him to heel in their bed. How he’d pour wax over his chest and mark him with his house seal like a fine letter to a king.</p>
<p>The thrusting was getting faster, and there was noise, filthy noise from somewhere. Someone was – with a gasp of clarity, Bruce realized it was his voice, his words, his – begging. He was begging Clark. Gasping, moaning, crying, he was shaking apart as Clark pulled his head back, and fucked into his ass in long, hard thrusts. His hands that scrambled uselessly in the blankets, even as Clark shifted him, plowing into him on his god damn lap. Turning him around and hooking his chained hands over Clark’s neck.</p>
<p>He’d – he’d – master had picked him up like he was a fond toy. Like he was nothing – nothing but there to please his master, and Bruce couldn’t describe the feelings, the waves of feeling crashing over him, or the pleasure, or the blackness that rushed up and swallowed him whole, his master’s cock still punishing his hole. Still using him, even as he passed out. Because he was his Master’s Slave, there for his amusement.</p>
<p>And Bruce desperately wanted to be a good slave. For him. For Clark.</p>
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